


Collide

by TourmalineGreen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, don't talk about my boyfriend that way, he's a mess but he's my mess, i'll fucking fight you in a denny's parking lot, rey is protective of her tol emo space goth boyfriend, she just wants him to be soft, yelling as seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineGreen/pseuds/TourmalineGreen
Summary: His eyes widen a little, and then his face falls. He looks down at his boots. And there’s something so striking, so sad, about the would-be Supreme Leader of the First Order, the grandson and heir of Darth Vader, the scion of so many bloodlines and noble houses and long-dead worlds, standing there, looking utterly forlorn, in an unflattering, ochre-yellow technician’s jumpsuit, his long hair falling about his face, staring down at his grease-stained hands.'Ben. Let me show you what I see.'They’re a few meters apart now; when has she moved towards him, or he towards her? Perhaps they are just two binary planets, eternally caught up in each other’s orbit, destined to collide.





	Collide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceamazon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceamazon/gifts).



> Prompt: "Ben is back with the resistance, he and Rey have been together for a while now but everybody else still hates him. One day her friends ask her why she is with him, "I mean, he is not even that attractive Rey!" And she gets really offended and starts to defend him..."
> 
> A Gift for Spaceamazon. Hope you like it!

Rey knows, on some higher, detached level, that they only say those things to her because they’re concerned. 

She knows, too, that she’s supposed to be above all this, calm and collected and distaint, and that a Jedi isn’t meant to give in to rage or anger or baser emotions, like rushing to a heated defense of her sort-of, maybe-boyfriend when the rest of the Resistance implies that she should be more cautious… 

They don’t know, of course; they don’t feel what she feels, see what she sees, when they look at him. The ones who know who he is, who he was, all they see is the petulant tyrant, the man who once held the fate of the galaxy in his black-gloved hands. A man who murdered his father, who had the audacity to be raised by two of the heroes of the Rebellion, and turn his back on every suspected privilege that had come along with that life.

None of them were there, though, when he came back to her. None of them saw him in that moment, on his knees in the dust of some backwater planet, wounded and desperate and penitent, asking for her absolution, or for her to be the one to finally end his pain. 

None of them had been there when Rey had reached for him with trembling hands, caressed the mark she’d given him on the edge of one stubble-coated jaw. They hadn’t seen him collapse from lack of food and blood loss, hadn’t heard the echoing screams of his crumpled mind, folding in on itself without Snoke to form and shape it. All they’d known was that Rey had been out scouting for allies in the outer rim, and she’d returned with just one. Broken and battered and contrite, one very crucial ally, who the First Order believed had been killed in the coup. 

Six months had passed since that day. Thanks to his intel, the First Order had begun to devour itself from the inside. Ben Solo had been the lever, placed in the proper way, to topple the whole thing down. 

And now, in the night, they aren’t there to hold him, to feel him when the nightmares return. To gentle his shaking body as he sobs, the tears drawing out the painful memories like an endless supply of poison, leaching from a wound that may never truly heal. In the mornings, they aren’t there to run their fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, to taste the salt on his skin, his lips. 

They aren’t there, in his thoughts; they can’t feel him, the way she feels him. They don’t know what it’s like, to be felt, and embraced, and so deeply understood, the way she knows he feels for her. 

Maybe they’ll never understand. 

But the very least they can do is keep their misplaced concerns to themselves, or vent about Ben out of earshot. The struggle against the First Order isn’t over yet, and it’s imperative that his true identity isn’t made public. 

Thanks to his help, the First Order is all but wiped out. Only the last, insidious roots of the galaxy-choking vine remain, embedded in key systems, still being watered and fed by xenophobia and hate. The Resistance fights tirelessly, now, to pull out every last shred of it, to prevent it from happening again. They know—their most core values are clear—that they cannot fight hate with more hate, cannot drive out the wretchedness and evil in the galaxy by using the First Order’s own tactics. They have to stand strong, to band together, to welcome anyone to their cause with open arms. 

Anyone, it seems, except Ben. 

Rationally—if, indeed, she  _ can _ be rational about her feelings for him, her connection—Rey understands their concerns. But given that so many of them seem to be either based on  _ her _ lack of judgement, or  _ his _ intrinsic darkness, Rey can’t truly be rational about them at all. 

“All I’m saying, Rey, is that you have to be careful.” Finn’s voice is low, his dark eyes pleading with her, loving, cautious. “Yes, his intel has been… invaluable… but—”

“But you still don’t trust him.”

Finn sighs. “It’s not about trust, it’s about... caution.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Rey takes a steadying breath, and wipes her grease-covered hands on the front of her coveralls. “Finn, I know you were there, I know you saw… what we saw. And I know that you knew him back then, when he was—”

“Rey, I know people can change,” Finn says softly. “I do. I just want you to be safe.”

Rey smiles at him gently, and gives him a reluctant nod. Finn is wonderful. Kind and generous, a stalwart friend, a good tactician. His advice is kindly meant. And he does not deserve her yelling rants this early in the morning. He gives her a smile, and Rey bites her tongue, and slips back underneath the belly of the X-wing she’s been trying to repair all morning. Maybe it’s not fitting work for a Jedi, but then again, she isn’t exactly a Jedi, either. It’s fitting enough work for her. 

But then Rose comes by, and with her, a handful of other mechanics and techs. 

Rose, too, is one of the few who knows who Ben once was. The name he once wore. But the rest of them don’t; to them, he’s just Ben Antilles, the quiet mechanic from nowhere in particular, a Resistance sympathizer who likes to work alone. The group of them quickly catches on to the topic of conversation the way Mynocks unerringly find power cables, and they begin to launch into a highly unasked-for commentary on who’s dating who, and who’s rumored to be dating who, and Rey braces for it, because she knows what’s coming next. 

“Ben Antilles, though,” one of them says. “What’s  _ his _ story?”

“I heard he was space-born,” another woman’s voice says; Rey recognizes this as the voice belonging to a Coruscanti woman named Kariss. “But he sounds a little… well he’s got an accent, doesn’t he? When he talks at all. Doesn’t sound like he’s from the outer rim.” 

“He’s… he’s a little weird-looking, though,” a third voice says, the melodic tones of Leona, a Twi’lek who’d only just recently joined their base a few weeks back. “I mean, no offense, but Human males have such a… well, there’s quite a spectrum between him and… someone like Captain Dameron…”

The girls giggle at this. Underneath the X-wing, Rey fumes. There’s nothing wrong with Poe, of course, but he’s not Ben, and that, to her, is a critical difference. She holds still, wondering if any of them know she was down there, listening. She hoped for their sake that they noticed soon, and stopped. But no, they kept going:

“I really don’t think we should—” Rose was saying, but Kariss pressed on.

“I just don’t understand what she sees in him, to be honest. She’s so beautiful; she could have any man or woman on base—”

“You just want her for yourself, Kariss, you’re so transparent,” the Twi’lek teases. This set off another round of laughter. 

Rey clenches her hands, feeling her nails bite into the skin of her palm. Control. She has to control herself. Above her head, a loose coupling on the X-wing’s lower targeting array rattled ominously. She stills the Force around her through sheer force of will.  

“Maybe he’s got particular talents we just aren’t privy to,” Leona continues. “Human males have such a  _ variation _ in that department, too. You know they say, the thicker the Lekku—maybe it’s the same with their hand size. I was with a Human spice-miner once who—”

“Hey, did you see the report that the supply run is bringing back—” Rose valiantly tries to redirect the conversation, the toe of her shoe nudging Rey’s foot where it’s concealed under the ship, like an apology. 

“—and he had the most  _ talented _ hands, it almost made up for it,” the Twi’lek was still saying. “Almost. There are some things that just… but really, that can’t be the only thing she sees in him.”

“Maybe she likes the tall, gangly type,” Kariss offers. “He does have that scar on his face, maybe she’s into that. But his  _ ears… _ ”

“He could dock like an A-wing!” 

The two women dissolved into riotous laughter. 

Rey’s heard enough. 

Before any of the others can say anything, Rey’s propelling herself out from under the ship, standing up with fire flashing in her eyes. Leona’s cerulean skin flushes deep indigo, her eyes going wide, and the other Human woman lets out a little shriek of surprise and alarm, and even Rose and Finn jump back from Rey where she stands. 

“What is wrong with you?” Rey nearly yells. “All of you? Don’t you have an ounce of sense, or compassion? Or anything better to be doing, instead of standing around and gossiping like a flock of steel-peckers? You should keep it to yourself, if you don’t find someone appealing!”

“We’re sorry, we were just—”

“Ben is brave, and handsome, and I’m with him because I  _ want _ to be with him, alright?” Rey continued; it felt like the words were the hot and steady rush of a sandstorm, breaking free over the dunes, rolling on unconfined. “He’s what I want, he’s perfect, and none of you have any idea what he’s been through, what he’s overcome—”

“Rey, we weren’t—”

“He’s—” Rey stops herself, only just recognizing that Rose has put her hand gently down on her arm. It’s a warning, a soft reminder. 

What had she almost revealed? 

The rest of them are looking at her, eyes wide, surprise and confusion and embarrassment swirling around them in the silver eddies of the Force. She’d been perilously close to revealing so much more than was safe. And these two… they don’t know, don’t understand… to them, Ben is just another Human male mechanic. The Resistance is winning, and things are looking up, and they can joke, and laugh, and tease...

Slowly, her anger retreats. 

“We’re sorry,” Leona softly says. “We meant no offense, truly.”

Rey nods, wordlessly. The two of them depart, chastened, their embarrassment rolling off of them in palpable waves. And she tells Finn and Rose that she’s fine, and she turns and hides the tears that may have snaked tracks down her dusty cheeks. Ben is everything to her, everything—even if others can’t understand it, can’t they at least be kind? After everything he’s endured, after the struggle to overcome his past… why is it here, among those who ought to be his allies, does she still feel like he’s surrounded by enemies? 

Not for the first time today, Rey wonders if the two of them shouldn't just… leave. 

A prickle of awareness tugs at her, and Rey looks up. Across the hangar bay, she sees Ben’s dark, curious eyes, and through their shared, strange bond, she feels his gentle query. 

_ Why are you crying? _

Rey shakes her head, and does her best to hide from him what the others had been saying. It’s impossible, though—not because he’d pry, but because she’d never conceal herself from him, not truly. Not any longer. 

The man’s lived with enough concealment, enough fear. And Rey has vowed never to do so. Even if it stings, like salt in a wound, when he takes her offered memories, the words the women, and the others, had said. 

They aren’t the only ones. 

His eyes widen a little, and then his face falls. He looks down at his boots. And there’s something so striking, so sad, about the would-be Supreme Leader of the First Order, the grandson and heir of Darth Vader, the scion of so many bloodlines and noble houses and long-dead worlds, standing there, looking utterly forlorn, in an unflattering, ochre-yellow technician’s jumpsuit, his long hair falling about his face, staring down at his grease-stained hands. 

_ Ben _ , Rey says to him.  _ Let me show you, then, what I see. _

They’re a few meters apart now; when has she moved towards him, or he towards her? Perhaps they are just two binary planets, eternally caught up in each other’s orbit, destined to collide. His hands are in hers, and she’s standing before him, tracing the soot-marked lines of his palm. This hand, which once reached out to her in desperation, to search her mind, to plead for union… this hand, now, lays soft and gentle in her own. 

And she shows him, in their shared thoughts, what it is she sees. 

She sees… peace. 

She sees the quiet of a still morning, in their room, in the Resistance base. The ancient bunker and its portioned-off quarters all open to the central atrium, and weak morning light filters in through the opaque panels, bathing his body in a soft-focus glow. Tan against white linen. 

She sees him, all of him. The broad shoulders, the muscled body, now scarred but still strong and recovering from what he’s endured. The hands that caress her skin, the feel of gentle guidance, the coaxing of pleasure from her body. 

Rey lifts his hand, and brings it to the side of her face; she closes her eyes. 

_ Ben _ , she thinks.  _ This is what I see, when I look at you _ . 

She sees the dark fan of his long lashes, laying on his cheek, his head on her pillow, his hair in blissful disarray on her sheets. She sees the furrow between his brows, now tense, now softening, as she kisses it away with a feather-light touch. She sees the way his dark eyes open sleepily for her, the way the corners of his full, delicious mouth smile for her. She sees him reach for her, feels the echoing caress on her skin, when he’d pulled her close. 

“Thank you,” he says, softly, into her hair. Not just for the memories, not just for the truth, not just for this. For everything. For what she offers him—freely, and of her own will. He breathes her in, wraps his arms around her. He smells like ozone and engine grease and dust, and Rey wants to hold him forever. 

In reality, with the noise of the hangar surrounding them, Ben pulls her close, and the world fades away. It’s always been them, just them. And it doesn’t matter if people are staring, if they judge, or question, or secretly condemn. This is enough. 

This is more than enough. 

This is everything. 


End file.
